


An Ocular Condition

by ProdigalQueer



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Harry Hart Lives, Harry as Arthur, M/M, Merlin is a Little Shit, Physical Disability, Post V-Day, Roxy is salty af, mostly pre-slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5175521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProdigalQueer/pseuds/ProdigalQueer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry sees his adjustment as easy, but that's only because he's not really looking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Ocular Condition

After V-Day, adjusting had been hard. He was, after all, a middle aged man decidedly set in his ways, and now his whole life was almost entirely different. No longer was he out in the field, a fierce knight reigning noble hellfire down on criminals and curs. Now, instead, he was Arthur: bloody boring _Arthur,_ with paperwork and expense reports and a suit that was still bulletproof, but was no longer doubly-reinforced at the seams for mission durability.

The missing eye was also annoying.

But gentlemen _could_ get away with eyepatches that tastefully matched their suits, so he had that going for him. Aside from the issue of vanity, and a need to correct for one-eyed aim instead of stereo-vision on the practice range, Harry saw nothing much to fuss about. He'd left the brochures and website listings the Kingsman medical staff had given to him in the bottom drawer of his new desk, and not given it another thought since. Harry had always been extremely adaptable after all, and adjusting to life sans an eye was just another challenge he conquered without struggle.

Or so he thought, anyway. At first.  
  
_____ 

It crept up slowly. Harry was walking through the HQ hallways, informally briefing with Bors about an upcoming mission in Paraguay. The crisp overhead fluorescent lighting allowed both of them to clearly see the research (printed on actual paper-- Bors insisted the physical items helped him memorize better) as they walked. The realization was one that gave Harry pause, and he stopped in the middle of a long, brightly lit corrider.

 “Does it seem a bit brighter in here than usual to you, Bors?” He asked his companion, recalling always squinting over papers in the dimly lit spaces before.

The agent peered back at Harry, his auburn eyebrows disappearing underneath a lock of equally red hair. He stared for a moment, looking thoroughly nonplussed. “Well, yes, Arthur,” he said eventually, speaking as though Harry might be a very young and stupid child. “Redid the lighting in the whole place, couple weeks back.”

Harry tried very hard not to let the color rise on his cheeks. Being Arthur had apparently made him noticeably less observant. But Bors said nothing more about it, and they resumed their discussion of likely parachuting locations without further fuss.  
  
_____

The next thing Harry observed was the sudden and distinct lack of clutter. The lavish accouterments of unnecessary wealth had previously crowded in almost all available Kingsman spaces. There had always been a spare hand-carved wooden Victorian era chair here, an overly ornate and useless roll-top desk there.  

But now, Harry noticed, the corners were empty, the paths through the “Arthur” rooms and offices feeling wider and cleaner without the useless ornaments. Mantles formerly lined with bronze and marble busts now sat sleek and nearly bare. Even with holiday garland and other decorations put up, the whole place still felt lighter and infinitely more appealing. Harry very much liked the direction the cleaning staff had taken, though he did intend to ask Elizabeth, the head of the staff, about the storage location for the nearly priceless heirlooms at some point. He himself didn't particularly care, but even Kingsman had a board of directors to answer to.

The same could be said of the grounds, as well, once Harry thought about it. They had always been immaculate thanks to Chester's snobbish priorities, but some of the older sidewalks had been freshly paved, smoothed out to precise levelness, and all of the stairs and curbs had been highlighted with sharp yellow lines of paint. New lampposts dotted the paths as well, tasteful and well befitting the rest of the grounds, and lending a warm light to the walkways even at night that had many agents running outside instead of inside on the treadmills when the weather permitted.

Elizabeth and her whole department would be getting a raise with the next fiscal year.  
  
\-----  
  
But while the spaces Harry occupied became brighter and cleaner and all around more streamlined, the same could not be said about the paperwork he kept getting from his agents-- a fact which he brought up very loudly (but _politely_ ) at the next meeting.

 “I should like it very much if you would all model yourselves a bit more after our exemplary cleaning and grounds department,” He told them, sweeping his arm expansively around the clean and open meeting room. “I would ask that you deign to produce sleeker, more streamlined results as they have.” He paused to see if the message was received, but all he got was rather queer looks back from most of his agents. Lancelot actually _rolled her eyes_ at him-- did she think he was _entirely_ blind? He adjusted his eyepatch tetchily in response.

Deciding not to verbally call out that blatant bit of insubordination, Harry continued on gamely. “I am of course, speaking of things like, perhaps blowing up a few _less_ buildings in the upcoming quarter,” he said, tilting his head pointedly at Tristan, who curled up his own lip in a very restrained sulk.

“And perhaps turning in a few more of the preferred _electronic_ reports, rather than the paper ones?” He continued, this aimed at Bors, who looked back at him with the bored disinterest of someone who was not going to listen in the slightest.

Harry may have huffed then. “Well at the very least, I must insist I receive no more _hand written_ reports, for God's sake!” At this, the whole table turned as one to look at Eggsy, who tried to grin charmingly while slinking down into his seat and flushing cherry red.

Harry let himself be mollified with scoring that point, at least, and dismissed the meeting shortly after. Bors and Tristan managed to be first out, and Percy strolled right after them, saying blandly “Are you still a spy?” He did not pause, and he was gone before Harry could question the odd non sequitur.  

At any rate, from there, Harry _was_ able to catch Eggsy, who had been held up by a fiercely grumbling Roxy. As he approached, Roxy cut her words short before he could hear more than her general tone.

“Lancelot,” he greeted cordially, only to watch her roll her eyes once more. “Is there a problem, Agent?” He asked, not missing the way Eggsy elbowed her hard in the ribs, hissing like a wet cat.

“Allergies, I'm sure,” was all she said, before nodding at him and breezing past, rubbing discreetly at her ribs.

“I'm sure,” Harry echoed doubtfully after her.

“Aw, don't worry about her any, Harry, she's just got her pants in a twist today,” Eggsy spoke up amiably at his elbow.

Harry hummed noncommittally, before tilting his head down to spear Eggsy's bright green eyes with his own single one. “I was quite serious about the reports, Galahad.” Eggsy's face flushed once more and his eyes dropped. Harry relented. “I mean it, Eggsy. I don't know who taught you how to write in school, but I'm considering having them shot. I didn't know one could go cross-eyed with only one eye, but reading the handwritten catastrophe that was your Slovenia debriefing, I find myself proven wrong.”

Eggsy was grinning up at him again by the end of it, the set of his shoulders jaunted cockily once more. “What you gonna do, send a bad note home to my mum with my report card?”

“I just may do that next time, my dear boy. Now let's make sure there _isn't_ a next time, shall we?”

The boy's smile turned sly at that. “Aye aye, Arrrrrthur,” he chirped back at him, before swaggering out of the room in what the older man could only assume was supposed to be _pirate-style._

With the room empty, Harry let himself laugh.  
  
\-----  
  
The holidays passed in a pleasant, relatively peaceful blur, even the worst criminals seeming to want to have a holiday this year round. As such, Harry didn't find himself down in Merlin's departments for several weeks.

When he did next end up there, though, he was surprised to find that the handler and R&D departments had also undergone a bit of an update. The lighting was much brighter, the workstations rearranged so that the pathways were wider, the whole space feeling more open and breathable. The various sets of stairs all had the bright yellow hazard strips along each ledge as well, Harry noted approvingly as he made his way into the depths of the space, a mug in each hand.

“I see even our basement gremlins have had their spaces spruced up,” he jibed, handing the wizard his mug of tea, overly sweetened as always.

Merlin took a large and borderline ungentlemanly gulp of the drink, swiveling his chair away from the screens where Tristan was carrying out a fairly standard intel op. His head gleamed a bit brighter than usual in the newer lighting, but 'basement gremlins' was sufficient enough harassment for the moment, Harry thought wryly, pulling his punches.

“Aye,” was all Merlin said, giving Harry a level look. He took another, more reasonable drink of his tea, and Harry took a sip of his own deliciously bitter coffee.

“I'll be giving Elizabeth and her entire team a raise once the new budget comes in, of course.”

Merlin made a clicking noise in his throat at that, sounding like he'd swallowed his tea a bit wrong. “Elizabeth and her--”

But whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the loud explosion onscreen. Harry and Merlin both whipped around to watch as Tristan's glasses recorded him sprinting rapidly, debris spitting from the presumable wreckage behind him. The man was fairly giggling as he went.

“Ach, _Tristan_ ,” Merlin groaned into the comm, pinching his nose in weary disbelief.

“No one ever listens to me,” Harry sighed dispassionately.

Merlin didn't comment on the gleam in his eye. “They do when it matters, Arthur. You know that.”

Harry mumbled the rest of his rote complaints into his coffee, hiding a smile. He leaned against Merlin's desk and listened to him chew Tristan out and get him back safely to his departure point simultaneously, feeling surprisingly content.

After a few more moments, Merlin signed off the feed and swiveled back to Harry, looking decently well pleased himself. He eyed Harry's cup of coffee with a disdainful look, and took another drink of his tea.

“New mug?”

Harry peered at him for a moment, knowing his general dislike of small talk. “Yes. Eggsy got it for me for Christmas.”

The mug was nothing special, really, but it was a far cry from the plain black mugs Harry had taken his coffee in for years past. This mug was light gray in color, and on it's side, it said “ _Caffeination In Progress”_ in obnoxious lime green. Next to the words was a drawing of a vertical progress bar, filled in with the same lime green to the 60% marker. On the inside of the mug was a mirror image of the progress bar, marking the coffee levels with percentages and ludicrous warning signs.

It was a stupid thing. Caffeination was not a real word. Gentleman did not drink out of joke-mugs painted in garish lime green. Harry quite adored it.

“You're not still drinking that Keurig swill, are you?” Merlin asked after another moment, pulling Harry back from his musings.

Harry _tsked_ at him reproachfully. “Do you take me for a heathen, Merlin? I switched back to my french press almost immediately after I was released from medical.” Harry did not mention that often, when he was running a bit behind, he _did_ still use the pre-sized k cups to avoid having to pour his hot coffee in a hurry. It often resulted in spills these days, it seemed. But Eggsy's mug deserved nothing but the best, and he used the drawing as a helpful way to see when the cup was full enough. It had been strictly french press since Christmas.

“Not a heathen, no,” Merlin answered, and it sounded like he was saying something else entirely.

Harry opened his mouth to ask, but as he did, a notification pinged through the sound system, calling Merlin away to an R&D station immediately. Mystified, Harry finished his coffee and walked back to his own office.  
  
\-----

It was late January before Harry finally managed to speak to Elizabeth.

He stayed late one evening, watching the new Lamorak recruits run laps in the dark. It was easy for him to see their progress through the spyglass he'd found sitting on the corner of his desk the previous week. Though it looked like old antique brass, the guts of the thing were made of nothing but the latest and sharpest tech, with auto focus, zoom, night vision, and a slew of other clever tricks Harry was enjoying figuring out with no guide. The note attached to the clever tool had said only ' _Arrrrr'_ in truly appalling handwriting, and Harry had rolled his eyes at Eggsy's commitment to the joke.

He was so intent on watching the recruits' progress, that he didn't realize he had company until he heard “ _Oh,_ excuse me Arthur!” from behind him. Being snuck up on might've worried Harry, but Headquarters was the only place he ever let his guard down enough to let it happen.

He turned to see Elizabeth Prewitt standing in his doorway, looking exactly as she had always looked: a professional black uniform, salt and pepper hair pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck, her black eyes bright above her sharp cheekbones. Had the times (or the Arthur) been different in her youth, she would've made a fine agent. Instead, she manned the behind-the-scenes of Kingsman's daily workings with an iron efficiency and near total autonomy. For all that Harry almost never saw her, he was really quite fond of her.

“Elizabeth, good evening,” he said, smiling and pleased. He welcomed her inside with a wave of his hand.

“Good evening yourself, Arthur,” She answered, her own voice warming. “Sorry to have disturbed you-- I'm not used to this office being put to use so late in the evening.”

Harry managed not to curl his lip in disgust at the thought of Chester King. “Yes well, you know you needn't work at these hours anymore. There is no need for you and your staff to be a ghost crew here, as I've told you--”

“A dozen times at least,” she broke in smoothly, her eyebrows raised. Harry smiled wider at the obvious dismissal.

“Nonetheless, it's very good to see you. I've been meaning to thank you and your excellent staff for all the clearing and organizing of this place you've done over the past few months-- it's really done wonders.”

At that, Elizabeth did finally break into a smile. “I'm glad it's all been helpful to you, then. We'd hoped it would be. Galahad was very specific in his instructions, but I suppose it's been a bit of trial and error along the way for you, yes?”

Harry blinked his eye at her, feeling as though he'd somehow dropped into the middle of a completely different conversation.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Well I imagine you didn't know exactly what you'd need at first. The yellow ledge lines were a smart choice at the end though, for where the lighting just wouldn't be enough. I'm just glad you gave us the list of changes we'd need to make-- we'd have never thought of it on our own, I don't think.”

She tilted her head at him fondly, and Harry absently watched her keep any trace of pity out of her expression. “I don't know how you've managed, losing all your depth perception so suddenly that way, but I'm glad everything has helped.” She hesitated a moment, then pushed forward. “I'm also damn glad to see you in this office now instead of Chester, Harry. We all are.”

“Ah,” was all Harry could say. “Thank you.”

“I'll leave you to it, then. Just flip the light off on your way out so I know you've gone, wouldn't you?” And with that, and a final smile, Elizabeth disappeared back out of his office as though she'd never been there at all.

Harry sat down behind his desk, the room an easily navigable space before him. He looked down at the spyglass in his hand. He took a drink of coffee from his gray and lime mug. He thought for a very long time.

“I'm an idiot,” Harry said into the still of the room.

“Just myopic,” answered Merlin cheerfully from the speakers hidden somewhere in the ceiling. “Go home Harry.”

Taking his mug with him, Harry did.  
  
\-----  
  
It was two weeks before Galahad got back from his mission in Prague. For once, there had been no incident, and the operation had gone off without a hitch.

Harry was waiting for him on the tarmac when he deboarded. He took a moment to watch the younger man stroll down the plane steps in a charcoal suit, his hair in perfect order, and a grin on his face. It was a very good look for him.

“Oy, Arthur, where's my welcome home parade? Has someone composed me a march?” Eggsy called with faux grandiosity, his expression gone cheeky.

“Called off due to bad weather, I'm afraid,” Harry answered mildly, squinting slightly at the bright blue sky.

Eggsy laughed. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes.”

That stopped Eggsy in his tracks for just a moment, and Harry caught the falter in his step, and the slight flush along the back of his neck, now that he was looking for it. Then it was gone in the blink of his eye, and Eggsy jostled him good naturedly as he passed by. “Aw, sorry about that, Harry. I know you've gotten attached to all the pirate jokes. Gawain knows some really great ones for next time I'm gone, if you're that bad off--”

Eggsy stumbled suddenly, tripping over something, but when he looked back, there was no evidence that Harry had ever moved an inch. “Be back by nine A.M. for you debriefing,” was all he said, airily.

Eggsy saluted sloppily and continued into the hangar, laughing happily as he went.

Harry blamed any red in his cheeks on the windiness of the afternoon.  
  
\-----  
  
A true gentleman knows when to separate business from pleasure, of course. And so, Harry didn't wait until the next day's meeting to see the younger man again. He wanted to talk to Eggsy, not Galahad. It was Eggsy's door he knocked on at seven that evening, not Galahad's. 

Eggsy answered the door 30 seconds later, shooing back a furiously barking JB. He was dressed in soft grey sweatpants and a dark green tshirt worn thin from use. His hair was ruffled. Harry found himself unspeakably charmed.

“Good evening, Eggsy.”

“Er, hullo Harry,” he said, looking a bit concerned but pleased to see him. “Everything all right?”

“Yes yes, of course,” Harry answered, fighting the urge to shift from foot to foot. Gentlemen do not squirm. Instead, he pulled his intended delivery out of the breast pocket of his coat. “It's only that I rather wondered if you'd like to have some coffee with me.”

Eggsy snagged the white mug out of Harry's hand and examined the black lettering on it, his eyes seeming to light up from some unseen source. “ _'First Mate,'_ is it, then?” He asked, his mouth steady and careful.

“Arrr,” Harry answered before he could stop himself. Then, hurriedly: “That is, if you like, I'd be--”

But Eggsy was laughing, leaning towards him, his face split in a wide, toothy grin. “I thought you'd never ask.” Eggsy reached out and tangled his fingers in Harry's longer ones. “Come inside, Harry. A fresh pot is brewing.”

And Harry went.

**Author's Note:**

> "I'll write a tiny drabble," I thought to myself, earlier today. I am a dirty liar.
> 
> This story spawned because I myself have Strabismus, and I can only imagine that actually being without an eye would be even more challenging. Largely it would mean no depth perceptions so things like steps, curbs, pouring liquids, judging distances, using binoculars, etc. would be frustrating, ineffective, and sometimes a bit dangerous. Eggsy thinks of all this. Harry doesn't. 
> 
> I do have a backstory for why Eggsy things of all this, if anyone would have any interest in a followup to this schmaltzy mess.


End file.
